Raise A Little Hell
by outlook96
Summary: What if it wasn't Julie that R ran into while on a hunt for food? Tatum Winchester get's ambushed by a pack of Boneys while on a med-run. The last thing she expected was to be saved by a corpse looking for food. Desperate measures cause her to team up with the zombie in order for her to survive. Things are changing. He's different, she knows that... But can she convince the others?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, first off I just wanna start by saying I apologize for starting so many damn stories and not finishing them. I will finish them... I just get new obsessions, like this one!**

 **So, from the summary, you can tell that this is a Warm Bodies fanfiction where R encounters someone else i stead of Julie. I thought it'd be fun to add an OC. So for this story, I'd love to take suggestion on how Tatum progresses throughout the story. Also, you may notice that her brothers closely resemble Dean and Sam from Supernatural... I may have done that on purpose. So I guess it's a slight crossover... Anyways all the encounters will be much different then when R was with Julie, so I can make this much more exciting and play with it. Tatum and R will have a similar relationship though. Anyways... I hope you enjoy. Let me know your thoughts and review below.**

 **ALSO: YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE OR READ THE BOOK TO UNDERSTAND :) So those of my followers who have read my other stories, feel free to start this one and not miss out!**

 **Isaac Marion is responsible for this brilliant idea. I guess Eric Kripke is responsible for Sam and Dean, her bro's.**

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There were two types of zombies, in this world. Why am I referring to as it different world? It's the exact same one; only 75% of the population had been wiped out by The Disease. There was no name for it. Scientists didn't have the chance to name the virus that had killed my father. It moved too fast.

Anyways, what was I saying?

Right.

The zombies. There was a distinct divide between two. There were the corpses, or the dead, that were just plain old zombies. Your average brain-gnawing horror-flick, walking-dead type deceased; with the sucken eyes, the rotten teeth, the groaning and moaning. The others were worse. Much, _much_ worse. Not only had they lost their minds, but their bodies too. I literally mean they lost their bodies. All that was left of them were skeletons. Boney's, we called them. Instead of the moans and groans, they let out bloodcurdling screams and hisses. Their bodies were covered in dirt and mold. Their faces had black tar-like liquid. Their insides folded out of them, some of them dragging along their own remains as they chased after The Living.

The one currently chasing my ass were the Boneys. Their skinny asses chased me to the border of the concrete parkade of the abandoned hospital.

My squad was supposed to go on a med-run. I was always the leader whenever we went on scavenging sprees. I was in charge of the newbies, the veterans. It was all teens around my age, 20, that went for forages.

I had made a bad call.

A terrible one, if that.

I fucked up, for lack of better words.

We needed antibiotics, medications, bandages, crutches, etc., We were running scarcely low. One of the two pains in my ass, which were most commonly referred to as brothers, forced me to take a group of newbies out. They were extremely undertrained, and we were extremely understaffed. There were only six of us.

I should have made the call to turn around after we hit the first hospital. It was the closest one to what we called 'home'. We had been there too often that we had already salvaged most of the useable supplies.

When one of the boys, Martin I think his name was, suggested hitting up the next hospital a few miles away, I couldn't resist. There had been an accident last week. A few soldiers out to kill had been caught in an explosion. They were badly mangled, and we had to make the decision whether or not to go back, or go find supplies for them.

I had to make the call.

And I chose to.

We only ran into a few corpses along the way, ones that were easily killed with non-fire arm weapons. The noise of a gun going off tended to attract them; it signaled food nearby.

After half a day's worth of walking we finally made it there. There were lots of supplies, too. Too much for us to carry, which made me internally curse myself for not urging my brother Dean to send more troops with me.

We were about half an hour into the hunt when we heard a quiet rattling noise. It almost sounded like a radiator. Pre-apocalyptic me would have minded the noise, but post-apocalyptic me knew that anything outside the Stadium's gates were dangerous.

I don't really need to mention what happened next. The juicy stuff included the smallest girl in the group, Trinity, running off in the exact opposite direction as I. Half the Boney's followed her, half followed me, and the rest gnawed on the bodies of the recently deceased. I just prayed they tore into the brain. I didn't want them to rise up from the dead and become a corpse, otherwise I would face the difficult decision of shooting someone I knew in the head. Again.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the beads of sweat roll done my face, pooling at the edge of my strong jaw line, waiting to fall.

My worn combat boots crunched along the shards of broken glass, and the piles of dusty paper.

I felt a surge of adrenaline as my shoulder slammed into the rusty door of the parkade. I groaned, rubbing my arm. I didn't expect it to be that heavy.

I could hear the growls, and the hisses from behind me. They all stumbled over each other mindlessly, taking each other out to reach their food source; me.

There was no better way to describe it then one of those national geographic documentaries where the arctic wolf chases the hare in the snow, watching it hop along at an unfathomable speed until finally the wolf reaches it and the snow is just splattered in crimson.

The only difference was, I wasn't there yet.

Man, I missed documentaries.

I shook the thought from my head.

 _Keep running, Tatum, keep running._

My hand slipped into the pocket of my tight cargo pants and I pulled out my an inhaler. Whilst still sprinting, I placed my thumb on the cold aluminum, pressing it to give me a rescue breath. I could feel my bronchioles immediately open up, allowing me to push farther, faster.

From the looks of it, there were at least ten of them, maybe more. I only had seven arrows left form my short bow. Frankly, I didn't feel like wasting all of them either.

I struggled to dip into the side of my boot for the dagger while sprinting, and I immediately lost a few seconds of time.

"Shit," I cursed.

I held the dagger protectively in my hands as I darted around an old BMW. The windows were all smashed in, and the glass crunched underneath my thin soles.

The parkade wasn't very big. I mean, it would've been, but half of it was torn apart by some earthquake or something. The building was slanted, and I was already sliding down the south part of it due to the steep angle.

One of them let out a loud screech, and I actually winced.

 _Don't show fear. Don't show fear._

They all let out a half cackle-half moan. Were they laughing? God. That was embarrassing.

My ears were still ringing from the noise, but I tried my best to ignore it. I leapt over a large crack, and landed on another platform of concrete that was a few feet lower. My calves screamed for me to seize, but I couldn't stop now. I could feel my throat start to close up again, but I couldn't lose any more time. If the Boney's didn't kill me, the asthma surely would.

"Fuck off!" I screamed at them, jumping onto another platform of concrete. "I bet I don't even taste that good!" It's true. These days I barely even had a heart… metaphorically speaking of course.

"GrrrAHHHH!" I screamed a little when I was met face to face with the worst smelling boney yet. His mouth hung ajar, one of the hinges broken, and the black orifice that was supposedly his mouth spat out black tar on my face.

I frowned, wiping it off, then took the dagger that was in my hand and sent it straight for his head.

I would never get over the loud crunch I heard as the skull cracked, or the squish the brain made as the weapon entered it…. Or the weight! The sudden dead weight you felt on your weapon when you could feel their bodies seize up, the loss of strength you felt as you pulled your bludgeon back.

It was something I would _never_ overcome. That… feeling, or whatever you want to call it.

They were right behind me now, the others, and I was coming to a dead end. There was one more concrete platform away from the perimeter or the parkade. There was a partial piece of a car leading to the platform like some stairway to heaven. If I could get over there, knock the piece down before they could reach me, they'd eventually grow tired of waiting for me to jump down and send the corpses after me. By then, I'd be able to escape and run back home, searching for signs of Trinity along the way. Chances are; she was food by now though. She had only been on one spree before this. She was a sweet girl, too. Only 16. She was short, but damn, was she fast. She was alright with a gun, not so much with a knife. We all had our pro's and con's, I suppose. I preferred not to use a gun. In a world like this, you gotta make most with what you got. When the world essentially 'ended' all I was left with was my dad's old crossbow from when he tried out for the Olympics. He taught me some things, before he died. Before he turned.

It was my weapon. Everyone knew that too. If I was seen without it, it just wouldn't be right. It was a part of me. I had repaired that thing so may god damn times it was insane. There were times were I had to carve my own arrowheads. During the recent raid, though, they hit up a general store and salvaged a few bows. It was like a gift sent from above, just for me.

I stopped just inches before the concrete ended, and I looked over the edge.

A few pebbles broke off the edge, making me weary. I bit my dry lip as I looked back at the gaining skeletons.

Their hands clawed at me from where they were, their teeth snapped, and I shivered at the clicking the noise made as their top incisors met their bottom.

I tucked the dagger back in the thermal socks my oldest brother had gotten me for Christmas, and I swung my crossbow over my shoulder.

I had a chance to take a breather before I jumped, so I inhaled sharply, and exhaled deeply, closing my eyes. I expected my life to flash before my eyes or something, but no.

I was left looking at the dull grey sky ahead of me, with collapsed building and rotten bodies decorating the ground.

I grumbled. Here goes nothing.

I took a quick step over the partial car piece, being light with my touch incase it wasn't stable, and I hopped on to the 5x5 platform.

I used the heel of my right foot to stomp down on the vehicle. Panic mode set in when I couldn't provide enough pressure to budge the damn thing, especially with the dead advancing upon me, but after a few stomps I felt the thing move.

The corner of my lips quirked up when I heard a cracking noise, and then the piece finally fell. There was a loud crash as the car piece shattered once it met the concrete. I gulped, knowing that that might be my way down sooner or later.

I glanced back to the skeletons in front of me, and sent them a double middle finger, sticking my tongue out. Yeah, they might not understand, but it felt damn good to trick the bastards.

They all looked from one another, moaning, groaning, and even hissing. Their heads moved back and forth, side to side. Were they talking to each other? Was that a thing?

I rotated my torso around and looked down behind me. Below me was a pile of dense rubble. Besides that, a body or two. There was also a single corpse moaning as he raised his hands up to me, as if he was attempting to reach me. His blood-caked fingers made grabbing gestures.

Silence hushed upon the small crowd, and I turned back to them.

Every single one of them was facing me. Were they looking at me? I couldn't tell. They had no eye balls. But the cavernous holes that attempted to substitute them seemed to be pouring into me.

Without a spoken command, they started to form an assembly line. One by one they all lined up behind each other and came closer to the edge of the parkade.

The first one, the leader maybe, turned to the second one, and nodded. He got as close to the edge as possible, and then the second one wrapped lean fingers around both ankles.

"What the…"

The first one fell forward over the cliff, and the second one hung on to it with all its strength. The third one then grabbed the legs of the second one, and that's when it clicked. I knew what hey were doing. They were forming a bridge.

The first one scrambled to grab onto the platform, and I stood as far back as possible as I could've.

Guess that's what I got for being cocky.

I turned back around to face the road.

Could I survive the fall? Doubt it. If I did, I'd be severely mangled. The blood would attract the zombies, and I only had seven arrows left. If I damaged my hands, I couldn't even use them. It was difficult enough to pull the string into the latch. A few broken fingers would be the end.

The boney's fingers curled around my ankle, and I took the dagger from my boot, stabbing it in the head as I hacked a wad of spit in its face. Black slime sprayed against my boots, and I shivered as I pulled the knife back, feeling (and hearing) the skull crack thunderously. The others screamed at me, and I could tell they were mad now. They were mad I killed one of their own. They didn't see me throwing a hissy fit when they pulled Jeremy's head off, though.

I know… That sounds kind of heartless. You become numb in a world like this. You have to be vigilant about who you care for, because next thing you know, they are literally torn from you.

No variety now. The others were using the departed one as a viaduct, and they had therefore made the decision for me.

I lowered my crossbow down as far as I could, before releasing the strap, letting it fall to the ground. I winced as the cocking stirrup broke off, but it was an east fix. Just had to weld it together.

Okay Tatum, focus. You have no time left.

The world seemed to move slower then. The clouds stopped moving at their previous quick pace, the skeletons leisurely took their time making their way to the platform, and the zombie below was moving way slower. Well, slower then usually.

I shut my eyes.

Here goes nothing.

There was a slight 'woosh' noise brushing past my ears as the wind flew by. My brunette locks flailed around my face, and I couldn't help release the small scream as I met my impending doom. At first, it was almost peaceful, but then came the pain. 

There was a loud smack as I fell half-onto the concrete, half-into the pile of rubble.

During the first few seconds of my fatal landing, I felt nothing. I just felt pure numb. I assumed that by some miracle, I had survived without a scratch; but then again, why couldn't I see? Why was my vision blurry, red cascading down like a waterfall over my left eye?

Was I going blind? No.

My fingers moved to the cut over my left eyebrow. It was deep, surely needing stitches. My insides flowed out of it at an alarming rate.

I scanned over my body, analyzing my state. My leg. Oh God….. My leg.

I spat up a mouthful of last night's meal from seeing the sight of my right leg. It had dislocated from the kneecap and the amount of blood pouring out of it right now made me hack some more. There was a large wooden stake sticking out from the pile of rubble, and it had punctured through the outer portion of my thigh. Below that, in the calf, a metal scrap dug subcutaneously into the skin.

Once the adrenaline wore off, and then came the pain.

I couldn't hear the noises from the dead above, all I could hear was my own pulse pounding in my ears…. And that damn zombie.

"Mmmmmmmaaaahhhh….."

I turned to the groaning zombie that had so desperately waited for its meal to be served, and I took the dagger from my boot, and tossed it towards the corpse's head. It sailed straight into its eyeball, and then fell to the ground with a heavy thump as it's lifeless body slumped over.

I looked back up the skeletons, who had seemingly given up on me. Enough research showed that boney's liked to eat their food alive, unless desperate. They could tell that death was soon to take me, and they deserted me in the pile of rubble, heading back inside the hospital to wait for the next swarm of survivors to kill.

I doubled over, screaming in anguish as the sensation of pain took over. It made me feel faint. I was surely going to pass out from the stimulation.

Despite my accident prone nature, I had never even broken a bone, let alone survive a cliff-jump.

I couldn't survive this… who was I kidding?

I could pop the lower portion of my leg back in place, sure, but then what would I do about the copious amounts of blood exiting my body!

Man. What were Sam and Dean gonna do without me? I was their little sister. They hated seeing me go out there. They had almost lost me once, they sure as hell wouldn't want to lose me again.

"I'm sorry…" I whispered to myself, writhing in the pile of trash beneath me. "I'm sorry…" I wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. Maybe I was just directing it towards my brothers, the ones who had so whole-heartedly ensured that I had the best. They were the ones that protected me, the ones that lead us to Stadium City.

God, I couldn't take the thought of seeing them sad.

That was more painful than the state I was currently in.

They wouldn't want me to give up, though. They would want me to keep fighting. Always keep fighting. That's what they said, every time I stepped out of those gates to go on a hunt. What else was I to do now? Die here and let the dead eat me? No. I sure as hell wasn't coming back as one of those suckers. I'd rather put a bullet in my brain right now.

Tears streamed down the corners of my eyes, they pooled and pooled and pooled until finally they overflowed.

It was excruciatingly unbearable. I couldn't take it. I could already see the tunnel vision starting to form.

I formed a fist and bit my hand as I tried to readjust.

I let out a blood-curdling wail, knowing that the zombies would hear me, but I couldn't help it.

I had to keep fighting. I had to at least try to make it, even if it were impossible, right? That's what my brothers would want. That was always the last thing they said to me. Their rough exterior couldn't handle saying the words "I love you" before leaving, so they left it at that.

Always keep fighting.

I reached down to the black belt holding up my pants, and I unlatched the clip. I pulled it out of all five belt loops then folded it over each other, in layers. I placed the belt between my teeth, and bit down on it.

I barely felt the impact of my body meeting concrete, but I sure as hell would feel this.

While my teeth gritted against the faux leather, my hands moved to the fatal wound below my torso.

 _Just a small twist to the left,_ I told myself.

Sweat contained to paint the sides of my faces, while blood continued to paint my legs. One hand gripped my thigh, just above the knee cap, while one hand gripped my calf, just below the break.

If I was able to bite down any harder, I would've in that moment. The sickening pop filled my ears as I twisted my right hand back, and my left hand forward. It clicked into place, and the feeling let out an array of wails coming from me.

The belt fell from my mouth, and I spat up a few mouthfuls of blood, as well as left over bile from earlier. God, this was disgusting.

I hesitated as my shaky hand removed themselves from my leg, and I rested my head back against the cold concrete.

Dusk was starting to set in, and the last of the sunlight was slowly starting to melt over the horizon. Nice view. Purple had always been my favorite color, and it was rare times like these that the sun decided to share some of its warmth with the clouds, reflecting it in arbitrary directions.

Once I was able to catch a few breaths I shimmied off the plaid shirt I was clad in, leaving my torso dressed in only a sports bra and a white tank top. I ripped off a portion of the bottom of the shirt, and wiped my left eyelid. After dapping at my forehead a few times, I wrapped the cotton around my head and tied a tight not at the back of my cranium to apply pressure to my cut.

The pool of blood forming beneath me actually warmed me up. How sick was that? My own insides were providing heat. It would betray me when temperatures started to drop. By then, the blood would cool up, start to freeze. Then, my whole body would ice over because of my blood soaked clothes.

Okay, what were my options here? I had to really analyze over this dilemma. I suppose I could try to go back…. Or I could just take my crossbow right to the center of my forehead, release it.

That was weak, of course. I would be taking the easy way out in a world in this state. But it was also smart; less painful.

Thinking over it, I concluded that I only really had one. The least I could do was follow my loved one's last orders to satisfy both myself, and them. Just had to keep on keepin' on. I had to make a tourniquet; from there all I could do was crawl back. I could attempt to enter the hospital again to search for crutches, but the corpses would get me. I could start back to the city, but I would surely die before then. My only option was heading back there and hoping the morning search team would find me along the way. My brothers would be there, surely. Once they were aware of my non-arrival during the night, they would search for me.

I grabbed a large stick nearby, and placed it alongside the wound. It was painful for me to lift my leg as I stuffed the shirt underneath it, then around the side, but it was bearable. I made a tight knot then reached for my saliva-swathed belt. I wrapped that around my leg, and then connected it to the stick. After that I started turning it. I let out moans and cries here and there, and I had to stop every so often, but eventually I managed to tie it tight enough that the bleeding seemed to… sort of…. Stop. I crunched forward to retrieve the wooden stake sticking out of my leg, and

Fatigue washed over me like an evil wave attempting to drown me, but I tried to push through it. It was clouding my sense of survival, which was quite the large obstruction in my state.

I groaned as I flipped my body over, and used my elbows to pull me forwards. The first few crawls were excruciating. I could feel my leg throb with such intense pressure, like it was going to rupture. The next few inches were sufferable. I retrieved the blade from the brain of my comrade close by, and I crawled a diminutive portion further for the bow.

I swung it around my shoulder, and crept forward, my bad leg towing behind.

Half an hour later, I heard the moans. I had passed three blocks, and made it onto a long, dark road. The streetlights above me were tipped over onto the scattered cars and the miscellaneous items on the crack road. The forest on the opposite side of the road was much too dark for my liking.

I licked my lips, knowing that this, was probably it. If I had a choice though, I'd rather be gnawed to death by the corpses as oppose to the boneys.

The moans and the uneven shuffling became louder, so I did my best and pushed as hard as I could to roll under the red beetle beside me. That was the only option I really had. I couldn't run. I couldn't fight. I could only hide.

I could see them coming through the forest adjacent to the road now. There were ten of them, maybe. They were a newer group of zombies, I could tell by how decomposed they were. They had the pale skin, and the sunken eyes, but most of their skin was still intact, besides the haphazard stab wounds and the gunshots that had apparently missed their head.

My forehead was inches from the underside of the vehicle. I could only just turn my head. Luckily my 5"8 body was tiny enough to slip between the concrete and the car. It smelt of burnt oil and old rust.

There was an older man leading the group. He was bigger. His head was balding and he was dressed clad in a grey jacket and black pants. His white shirt underneath was more brown and red now. He had one shoe on. He looked to be early forties. Well he looked like he was in his early forties…

All of them are different ages. I see a younger women in the back, a man around my age beside the bald guy, a small child in the middle, etc.,

I had never felt this nervous around zombies before. Mind the egotism, but I was too bad-ass to give a shit. Now I was vulnerable… I was wounded. They were getting closer to the edge of the road. They started to beeline onto the concrete, but they would surely pass the red Volkswagen I was under.

Their gait limps caused them to stumble into each other as they ambled towards me. They hadn't noticed me yet... Maybe the blood wasn't so bad. Maybe they couldn't smell me.

The bald one hissed, halting.

The other bumped into him, groaning and moaning in frustration, one even tried to shove him but the movement was too slow to really impact him.

I grabbed the blade that was tucked into boot and held it to prepare myself for what might've come next.

"GrrrrAHHH!" the fat one groaned, pointing with his index finger to the trail of blood on the ground.

Their eyes followed it… slowly… until they focused on the car.

My eyes flickered to them, to the trail of blood, and back to my leg. I could feel my pulse beating in my ears, and my breathing become ragged. Tears exerted from my eyes, and I covered my mouth with my blood-caked hand to muffle the whimpers. I was scared, there was no getting around that. I was too damn young to die.

I could no longer control my hands, they were trembling at an odd shaking rhythm as the tears ran down my face, a slight sob escaping.

They cocked their head to the noise.

I watched as their nostrils flared and their heads moved back towards the beetle.

A black woman in the back pointed to her teeth and started clicking them together.

The dude around my age snarled at her. He was clad in a bright red sweatshirt and a white t-shirt. His jeans were filled with holes and tears.

They all turned to face him, as he growled at them. "Just… ate…" He grumbled back to them.

"Still… hungry…" The women moaned back between long intervals of moaning.

The red sweatshirt guy turned back to me. He shook his head to try to move the dark hair that was poking his eyes and then narrowed in on me,

I shut my eyes tightly, tightening my shaky hand over my mouth, and tried to hold my breath.

It was quiet, for a moment.

When I reopened them, I saw him staring at me. His eyes poured into mine, and analyzed my state of being, if that was even possible from that far away.

His nostrils flared as he caught a whiff of my scent, and then he started for me.

Awesome.

Another sob escaped my weak chest, and he winced at the noise.

The others started to move with him, but he whipped around and held up a hand, groaning. His body was sloped to the left slightly, as he staggered towards me. His dirty sneakers scuffed the rough cement. He took a few more steps towards me, and then just stopped.

I took the time to reach out and stab his leg with my knife. Before I can retrieve it, he leans down to me. His body is lying down on the floor next to me, and he studies me.

The tears stream down my face as his eyes analyze my face. They move from my straw-like hair, my brown eyes, my plump limps, my small nose. He seemed…. Confused… His brows furrow and his mouth opens. Surprisingly, his breath doesn't smell all that bad…

I felt frozen.

He hasn't lunged for me yet. He simply just frowns.

His pale, lean fingers finally move for my tear-stained face, but I dodged it.

I shuffled back in the opposite direction of him and rolled out from underneath the car. Using the last of the strength I have, I place both elbows in front of me and try to crawl away.

I could feel the painful rash starting to form from the deteriorating clothes. My skin scraped against the cement as I advanced forward, I tried to ignore the pain as I heard the corpse from the car stand up.

He staggers towards me, and stops me dead in my tracks. Instead of looking at my face, this time, he gazed at my legs.

"Fooooood!" The woman growls again, and as if there was some command, they all start shuffling towards me.

I couldn't help but break down. I couldn't help but cry, and sob. It was pathetic, but a girl can only be strong for so long.

He frowned again, which only marveled me more, but I shake it off. He probably just hasn't heard the sound before. He kills people before they have the chance to.

Hey, on the bright side, at least it was a semi-cute zombie. The hair wasn't so bad… just needed a wash. The blood soaking his clothes wasn't that fresh…

I gagged.

He turned back to the others and waved his hands, windmilling them in a motion to turn them around. He points to his mouth, snaps his teeth once, and groans "…mine…"

I closed my eyes, waiting for it to end. I said my goodbyes in my head to the only two people I still cared about, and waited for the pain. Just eat my damn brain… That's all I ask. I can't come back like them. There are a few seconds of silence, and I wondered if I had already died, until I felt something touch my face.

My eyes snapped open, and through the blurry vision of the tears I see the corpse kneeling beside me, his hand pressed against my face to attempt a comforting gesture… maybe?

His knees gave out, and he's beside me again, pressed against my body. I held my breath as his mouth moves to my neck, sniffing a few times. He moved back to my face and stared for a moment again.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" I screamed at him, my voice croaking because it's broken.

He backs up a few inches, and his eyes grow wide.

My lip quivered as I wait for him to do something. Anything. I just want it to be over.

His eyes soften again, and his lips part to moan… or something like that.

"S-Safe…." He whispers.

Okay. I'm going insane. No way did I just communicate with a freaking zombie. He's dead for pete's sake. And no way in **hell** did he just mutter those four letters. Well… the way he whispered it made it seem like five, but I ignored that.

My thick brows drew up, as I tried to conjure up something to reply with.

"Mmmm…wha?" The tears pooled up in my eyes again, but I'm not really sure why. I mean I'm still petrified of Mr. Zombie but I'm also flabbergasted.

"Keep….you…." He exhales deeply. "Safe…"

"What the-"

Before I could finish my sentence, he picked me up. Doing a standard fireman's carry he swings me over his shoulder like I'm weightless and carries me by my leg. By some wondrous luck he managed to avoid my bad leg, but the position still caused me to scream.

Did he use to be a fireman in his past life?

Didn't look like a fireman in those clothes.

He was much too lean, but he was tall.

"Let me GO!" I hoarsely screamed at him.

He moans back at me, which I suppose is the answer I will have to be satisfied with.

The others ahead of us stop walking and turn back to see what the commotion is.

The bald one starts back towards them.

"Later…." The one carrying me groans, "For later…"

The bald one snarls, and moves in with the rest of the group to lead the pack home.

I curled my hands into a fist and punch the zombies back, hoping he would give out and release me. He groans in response muttering what I think was "Not food… safe…"

I found myself groaning at his remark.

What the hell had I just gotten myself in to?

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 **A/N: R and R, let me know your thoughts. Thank you in advance :)**

 **-Outlook96**


	2. Chapter 2

**A lot of this comes from Isaac Marion. Some of it comes from Eric Kripke. I guess the rest is me... Enjoy. Please leave a review at the end.**

* * *

It was at least a few hours before we made it to the airport. The place was infested with zombies. There were hundreds of them. It astounded me how they built this "home" up and lived here like the world was normal. I faded in and out of consciousness due to the blood loss. All I could recall from my frequent eye-openers was that the corpse had smothered me in his own blood to hide my scent as we passed through the crowds of dead people. We walked through a gate where a TFA officer scanned us. Did they still have jobs? Did they think they still had jobs? Or were they even aware they had died?

There were also skeletons, but from the looks of it they hung out in a secluded area a few floors above. When I passed a small hoard of boneys, they sniffed me like they were memorizing my scent, or validating that I was 'dead'.

The next time I had opened my eyes we were going down an escalator…. That somehow still worked. The hoard we followed before had dispersed by now.

We exited a hangar and were walking across the airport runway to a small jet with the number 747 painted on it, the letters of the airline were faded from rust and blood.

"Let me go…." I murmured, my eyes rolling back into my head as I felt my unconsciousness try to encompass me again. "My brothers."

He tightened his grip as we walked up the stairs to the jet, and he banged my feet against the swinging door while we passed inside.

"Ow…." I muttered; my eyes closed now.

 _"S…..S-Stay…. Awake…"_ The words basically floated in one ear and out the other. I couldn't tell if it was my imagination, or if the zombie had actually spoken again. Or had I said that? My subconscious maybe?

The next time my eyes fluttered open, I was on the floor, a thin blanket beneath me.

"W-What where am I?" I looked to the corpse, who stood before me, hands in his jean pockets. "Oh God…. This is real…." I eyed my dagger sticking out of his thigh and in a swift motion; I did a sit up and pulled the thing out. I scooted back on the floor of the plane between the isles and held the dagger out. "Get back." I threatened, my eyes tearing up. "Please… d-don't come near me. Next shot's the head."

His eyes go wide, but he continues to stare. His lips part, but he doesn't say anything. He took a step towards me, and I use my hands to shuffle backwards again, but the dragging of my leg is more painful this time so I winced.

"My brothers are hunters you know..." I grimaced again, as my leg twitched swlightly.

It was starting to sting now. Tourniquet's only last for so long. They're a temporary measure of surviving… From most cases on television, when I binge watched 'I survived' on Netflix, they ended up chopping off the limb and getting a prosthetic.

"Are you just gonna stand there?!" I screamed at him, startling him. "Eat me already! I don't know why the fuck you took me back to your lair or whatever! Just get it over with!"

He started feverently shaking his head. He went to take another step, but I held the bloody dagger out, and he stopped in his tracks.

"N-No…. Eat…" He struggled to get out. "No…." He pointed to his teeth, made a snapping gesture, and shook his head, his dark locks shaking.

"Ya right!" I spat, wiping the tears forming again. I didn't want to die here…. In a plane. Plane's were one of my two biggest fears. Even being on the thing made me feel like I was going to have a panic attack. When I was a kid my brothers my dad and I went to take a trip to California and the second my foot crossed the barrier from the terminal to the plane, I fainted. The second I woke up, I ran. Two puffs of my inhaler later, and hours vomiting in the bathroom, as well as crying, the plane had taken off. I had slight aviophobia…

Maybe major….

"I don't…." My voice cracked, and I could feel the bolus of phlegm rising from my throat. I leaned over to sputter it up into the elbow of my shirt and out came not only that, but splatters of blood. "O-Oh God…." I grimaced at the sight. "Oh God…. I'm gonna die. Great! Great. Only I could die from something other than being eaten alive during a FREAKING ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE." I sniffled as I felt my nose start to run, and I wiped my face with my clean sleeve to dry my sticky tears.

The zombie said nothing during my outburst, instead pointed to my leg.

"Thanks asshole, I'm aware."

His gray, soulless eyes darted from me, to my leg, then to anywhere but me.

"Well?" I questioned, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

"N-No…. Eat…."

I sighed. "Yeah 'no eat'" I mimicked, "I get it. Then what do I do? Wait here and die? You might as well eat me at this point."

He made a face (or rather tried to….). The dude had probably never had a human offer up their body before.

"S-Safe…. He muttered after moments of silence. "K-Keep… you safe…"

 _Safe my ass._ I thought to myself. The last five years of my life my brothers had built up an army against these guys to blow their heads off. I had been raised by two goofballs that were basically built to kill. Even before the apocalypse, Sam, Dean and my father were always out hunting.

From my peripheral I saw the grey, lean fingers point towards me again, like a toddler. I followed his hand gesticulating to my wounded limb, once again, and I noticed the small shard of metal still sticking out of it.

I frowned. I must have forgotten that scrap and been too buggered up to remember to eradicate it before. In an ideal situation I would've loved to sanitize the shit out of my hands before yanking it out, but I was stuck in this stupid jet with the weirdest zombie I had ever met, and I wasn't totally a hundred percent sure I wasn't still dreaming right now, so I yanked the damn thing out with my hands, cutting my left palm in the process.

I hissed, moaning as I lay back on the dusty carpet and writhed like a worm.

It took me a few minutes to suffer through the pain. It wasn't bearable, I had just gotten used to the burning sensation growing all over my body. It felt like I was on fire. I could feel the hot blood pumping through my veins and exiting places like my hand, my leg, and my forehead.

When I sat back up to look at the silent corpse, he was gone.

With my leg towing behind, I limped to the windows and pressed my clean hand to the foggy glass. From here I could see him entering the airport hangar again, his gait limp was entirely too distinguishable.

Could I leave? I couldn't leave. I couldn't walk. He'd most likely find me half way down the stairs before I even had the chance to escape. If only telephone's still worked… I could tell my brothers where I was and they could come to rescue me. It was night time, which was a frequent hunting time for the Dead, which meant a greater risk for me if I tried to escape. The blood made my scent stronger too.

I sat down in the uncomfortable airport chart, resting my leg up on the neighboring chair.

I observed the small, cluttered jet. The room was filled with toys and knick knacks. It looked like a pawn shop that I once visited with my dad in San Fran before the whole end of the world thing happened.

There was a snow globe, a record player, a bird house, a coo coo clock, a calendar, numerous books and movies, but no dvd player, blankets, board games, jewelry, posters, and that was only the visible stuff. It was all scattered around the room, mostly in the middle. My crossbow was sitting on a chair in the isle farthest away from me. Towards the back of the plane was a small fridge… probably where he kept his left over brains… The cockpit was behind closed doors.

Did I want to know what was there? Rotting bodies? More zombies? I shivered.

I tightened my hand around a small necklace hanging from my neck. It was something my brother Sam had made me for Christmas during our first year behind the walls. It was just a small amulet hanging from a black string from my neck, but it was a carved tribal skull with horns on the head made from wood. He stained it himself and everything. Holding it made me feel a little safer, a little closer to where "home" was. I wondered if they were aware I was missing yet?

I heard the neglected hinge of the plane's door swing open, and the corpse came limping in, his body swaying slightly like usual, a red box in hand.

When he held the box out, I noticed the white faded cross on either side of it. It was a first aid kit, a loaded one too by the looks of it. What was he hoping for? Me to heal myself and then him eat me?

I snatched it from him muttering "You're lucky I'm trained in first aid," before I opened it. Little did he know that I was trained five years ago before everything went down, but I thought it was best to leave that out.

I started shuffling through the various supplies while he stood there, watching me like a hawk. Every so often I'd glance at him from the corner of my eye, expecting him to look away, but he never did. I just curled my lips over my teeth, ignoring it, and focusing at the task at hand.

I grabbed the small hand held mirror out of the kit, laying it on my lap. I snatched up a sanitary wipe, gauze, a needle, a small hemostat, and a pair of scissors.

His thick brows rose, with his lips still parted, and it was the first expression he had made in the last minute.

I shook my head. "Well, if you're not going to eat me…" I held the mirror out to him. "Hold this. But you lost your chance…" I tried to joke with the corpse, but he obviously hadn't understood.

He moved to sit cross legged on the floor in front of me, and he held up the mirror. I moved his hand to readjust, and he twitched, but I ignored it.

It was too dark in here to see anything, but the luxury of flashlights wasn't an option in the hoard of supplies sitting in the middle of the plane.

My eyes struggled to see in the dim lighting. I moved to clean the area, removing the hem of my shirt from my forehead. I used the sanitary wipe to clean my hands, and then used the other side to wipe the blood away from my wound. I hissed when I felt the stinging sensation of the alcohol enter the crevasse. Once it was all clean, I moved the thread through the hole in the needle and prepared for the painful pricks.

I clicked the hemostat around the middle of the needle, locking it, and entered the wounded flesh above my eyebrow. It was consequently difficult to see, but I managed to get the first stitch. I would only need two more. After looping it three times around the hemostat I knotted it twice and cut the remaining thread off.

"I was a CDA before the world went to shit."

Every time I cursed, the corpse looked away. It made me pleased to know I had bothered him. The feeling was mutual.

"Certified Dental Assistant," I elaborated. "Only for a few months though. I had just gotten out of college. They teach you to remove stitches in class, but I had watched so many damn oral surgeries I could stitch a mother's belly back up after a caesarian if I really wanted to."

He nodded shyly.

I finished the last stitch and moved to my hand. There was a dirty cloth in the first aid kit, and it was then that I realized that this had been used before, but it was the best I could do with right now.

I filled a capful of alcohol and wet the cloth in it.

The zombie was still holding the mirror up, so I took it from him, placing it back in the box. He flinched again, standing up once he realized he wasn't needed anymore.

He started towards the back of the plane, and I watched him until he vanished before aiding to my wounds again. I wiped my palm clean, pausing to let the pain die down a little before continuing. I got a roll of gauze and tied it around my palm and my thumb, and then taped it with medical tape to ensure it was secure.

Now: the leg.

This was going to be a hell of a fix.

I bit my dry, cracked, bloody lips, and searched the kit for supplies. I wasn't entirely sure about what to do at this point. If it was really bad, then I would need surgery to reconnect some major arteries; but I didn't know any zombie surgeons in the hangar.

Best case scenario, I had cut some minor tendons and veins, and would have to walk around with a minor limp for the rest of my life IF I ended up stitching it up sufficiently and had fresh gauze to change it every day—as well as ointment to keep it clean.

That was as far as my knowledge went, and what I had to work with.

I shuffled to back up and lean my head against my chair, and I straightened both legs out in front of me. The second I would remove the tourniquet I would feel an immense release of pressure and then came would come flowing back. I'd have to move hastily, and sanitarily.

I readied my supplies beside me, and counted down before diving into the medical implication.

I touched the necklace hanging from my throat once more, thinking of my brothers, before releasing the tourniquet.

I screamed through gritted teeth, and I saw the corpse in my peripheral again, but continued. My eyes went blurry, and I tried to blink back the liquid as I hissed through my teeth.

The pulsating sensation was indescribable. My leg hurt. My head hurt. My everything hurt. A dull sciatic ache had settled elsewhere on my body except for the affected areas. The pain sheeted through my leg with terrible intensity, but I pushed through it as I dabbed my leg with the alcohol-swathed cloth. I had no idea what I was doing. I wasn't a health professional. Well I was… but that was for like six months and I only saw people's teeth.

I dabbed and dabbed and dabbed, but the bleeding never stopped.

I hadn't expected it too… but I just had a little bit of hope that maybe my day would end easily.

I screamed loudly again as I felt a surge of pain wrack through me again, and I started the stitches. My vision was so clouded, I felt faint from all the blood but I had to stay awake. I had to stay alive. It was the first time all night I felt like I had a chance. If it weren't for the loss of blood…

I could see the tunnels start to form again, and I heaved breaths. The first cut, the smaller one, was done, but very sloppily. I moved to the bigger one. My needle moved through the wound continuously, and I tied the first stitch off.

Suddenly, the room grew warm, and I started to sweat heavily. My eyes were solely focused on the last few stitches, and I had pressed so hard to keep myself awake.

I coughed and sputtered a few more times, which seemed to wake my head up and rid the tunnel vision for a few seconds.

When the last stitch was tied, I dabbed it with the cloth. The cloth was completely soaked with my insides and at this point it was excreting more than sucking up. I picked up the blanket underneath me and dabbed at it again.

I groaned when I grabbed the larger gauze and tightened it around my leg. I used half of the roll and cut it off with bloody scissors. The part of the floor I was sitting on looked like I had just committed murder. The second I had finished, I collapsed onto the floor, my eyes peering up at the ceiling, and I took a deep breath. The pulsing sensation deep in my leg returned, but at least a majority of the pain that was unbearable had dispersed.

I sighed, closing my eyes.

So so tired…

I heard a flapping noise. Due to curiosity, I reopened my eyes, and saw a black fabric falling down on top of me. When it relaxed on top of my body, I looked up to where it had come from. The zombie was searching through the overhead, and tossed me a pillow.

I gave him a discerning look, before rolling over and letting fatigue wash over me.

"Keep…. Safe…." He moaned again, before he staggered towards the flight deck.

I sighed.

What… was he?


End file.
